


I Can Hear the Sound / Of Your Barely Beating Heart

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Broken Bones, Captivity, Concussions, Day 5, Demon Deals, Explosions, Failed escape, M/M, On the Run, POV Sam Winchester, Rescue, Restraints, Sam Winchester Whump, Where do you think you're going?, Whump, Whumptober 2020, rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: While being held captive by Lucifer, Sam is able to escape, and he's on the run. But can he stay ahead of the Devil?
Relationships: Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Non-Consensual Pairings
Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947223
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	I Can Hear the Sound / Of Your Barely Beating Heart

**Author's Note:**

> **Whumptober 2020**
> 
> **No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?**
> 
> **On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue**

Sam couldn’t run anymore. But he had to. He _had_ to. So he did, scrabbling at trees and tall boulders he passed to keep himself up. It was dark, and he tripped, rock ripping through his clothes, and scraping his skin.

Damn, why did Rhode Island have to be so rocky? He decided this was the worst ground in the country. Couldn’t they just remove all the fucking rocks?

No, it didn’t matter. Had to keep going. Sure, Lucifer could just pop in anywhere at any time, but he’d have to know Sam’s location, and if he kept changing direction while continuously increasing the distance between him and the cabin he’d been held in, he maybe had a five percent chance. A five percent chance of this working, of Sam getting out with his body as his own.

He forced himself up, even with the injuries from the blows Lucifer had dealt him. And he ran. When he fell, he pushed himself off from the ground, or pulled himself up, nature acting as his helpful, emotionless assistant.

Sam ran till his legs hurt, till he couldn’t breathe, till his body seemed to just want to die. Surely he was dehydrated, what with all the sweating, and the strenuous exercise. And he was warm in the cold air, but he didn’t take his jacket or shirt off. Having something to carry would just complicate the situation.

And he wanted to remain covered.

What if Lucifer found him?

Sam’s body was for himself alone, and it was his decision to not have Lucifer see it.

But he had. He had before, to such a degree that Sam wanted to rip himself to pieces from the shame of it.

The run through the woods at night seemed to be doing that all on its own. Finally, he came to a road. From there, he walked, trying to catch his breath. It wasn’t easy, what with the cramps in his side, and the way his legs shook.

This was ridiculous.

Sam was fit, but the run had taken everything out of him. The beating beforehand hadn’t helped. Or the rampant fear flooding his veins.

He walked, and walked, and walked...

Till eventually he found someone’s house. A truck with faded burnt orange paint sat in the driveway. It was all there for the taking. And Sam needed it.

Sam took his jacket off, rolled it around his fist, and then repeatedly punched the driver’s side window till it shattered into a pile of broken shards. Sam brushed it away from the edges of the frame, and carefully placed his hand in, unlocking the driver’s side door.

After clearing away the glass, he set to hot-wiring the truck.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Sam begged. Sparks alit the ends of the wires. “Come on!”

The engine revved.

“Yes!”

Sam got in, hoping the owner of the car was sound asleep up in the house. Normally Sam would feel bad about stealing someone’s car, but this was an emergency. A life and death situation.

Once in the driver’s seat, he backed out of the dirt path serving as a driveway, and then drove aimlessly.

Eventually Sam found a town, and he cursed when he realized he’d been driving towards the ocean for hours and hours. God, turning around could waste too much time. He supposed, at least the town wasn’t horrible, even in the gray dawn light.

The hair on the back of Sam’s neck stood on end, skin prickling, telling him he had to move on, even as he observed the town. Colorful, nautical-themed shops and restaurants were gathered close together, with wooden walkways between them, and some jutted out into the ocean, or had water lapping beneath them. There were docks, where luxury boats were anchored, and far off, Sam could make out a beach. Out past the town, into the ocean, lay an island with a single house taking up the whole of it. And farther, uphill, to the left, was an abandoned fort.

Could Sam hide there?

He could always drive further, find a motel. But he didn’t know where he was. Finding a motel wasn’t entirely feasible.

Was this how his life was going to be from now on? Always looking over his shoulder? Being on the run?

He’d escaped — barely. Now what?

Sam decided to ditch the car in the opposite direction he’d gone in, and headed up to the fort. After his long run the hill was murder on his thighs and calves.

“Have to… keep going,” he told himself.

At the top of the sandy slope, a metal gate loomed before him.

“Great,” Sam muttered, hands on his hips, leaning down slightly as he tried to catch his breath. “Just great.”

Did he have the strength to scale the fence? (The padlock was too secure to break, even if he found a giant rock to beat it with.) Or would it be easier for him to make his way down to the shore, and then find a hiding spot in the rocky cliffs?

 _And then what, genius?_ he asked himself.

So Sam took off his jacket, to use it to anchor him from higher up. After rubbing the fine, pale sand covering the ground on his hands to dry his sweat off, he tried tossing his jacket up to catch on a rung. It took a few tries, but it eventually stuck. But now it was slightly out of his reach.

Sam began to climb.

The bars were thin, and he fell many a time.

A half hour later he was hanging onto the gate, looking at the drop down. Color peaked over the horizon, and Sam glanced, trying to judge the time. Cold wind blew over the ocean towards land, making his hair stand on end, and he shivered.

He lost his grip, and he fell ten feet to the ground.

Sam landed hard on his back, breath punched out of him. He ached, he had to cough. And he felt like he’d cracked something. Maybe a rib, but around the back.

_Fuck._

Wanting to cry from frustration, wanting to just stop and lie down, Sam forced himself up. He moved carefully, heading towards the fort. The hill sloped down now. The fort itself was of a reddish brown brick, and highly dilapidated. Obviously it hadn’t been in use for decades, maybe even a century, what with the way the bricks were falling in.

Trying to find a room to hide in proved fruitless, but then Sam made an excellent discovery: there were tunnels twisting all around under the fort, and through the cliffs.

Sam immediately squeezed himself into them, not caring about how cramped it was, or that he was traveling lower and lower, or that he repeatedly found dead ends. Finally, panting heavy in the dark, Sam got as comfortable as he could. Which wasn’t very comfortable. His injured back was against the wall, and he was in a position as if he were sitting, his feet pressed hard against the opposite wall. God, these tunnels really hadn’t been made for people his size. Multiple times, he’d bumped his head. Just more throbbing to add to the drum beats of agony in his body.

A minute passed.

Two.

And Sam regretted every single choice.

Why the dark? In the dark it was impossible to see anyone coming towards him. It would be difficult to get out. It was highly unlikely that he’d even be able to throw a single punch if need be.

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Sam berated himself.

And then he froze up, hearing the echo of his voice.

Then, an eerily distinct sound met his ears.

Footsteps.

Sam held his breath, trying to remain quiet as he twisted his body about. He grimaced, holding in a cry at the awkward movement. He made his way farther down the tunnel, hoping to find an exit, or even a dead end that he could hide in.

_BOOM!_

Sam was thrown through the air, tumbling and getting knocked about by flying stone, brick, mortar, and dirt. The sky opened up before him as the very ground blasted away, the tunnel becoming nothing more but collapsing rubble. Sam thought maybe he’d flown a few feet, tumbling in the air, getting hit hard by bits of stone. Everything was just chaotic movement and numbing pressure against his body that soon became excruciating.

Sam fell on his side, skidding, skin scraping raw against the remains of the tunnel at the northern side of the fort.

He cried out as he tried to rise. His world was silent, his eyes bleary, black spots in his vision.

Was he breathing?

Sam didn’t know.

But he thought maybe he’d cried out as he’d tried to get up.

Only semi-conscious, and half-aware, Sam hadn’t noticed the person standing before him.

Lucifer held Sam down by climbing on him, straddling him. He grabbed his face, hard, eyes glowing red.

Sam had just enough consciousness left to realize that he was well and truly fucked. He’d failed.

God, he’d failed.

Sam lost consciousness, heart hurting from the violence of fear.

When he came to, he was in a basement. The air rattled through the boards, bringing him the scents of brine, and the freshness of the water. Sand had started to collect along the floorboards. He was hog-tied, gagged, and a rope around his neck was secured to a beam; the strongest in the miserable place. Everything was lit by the virulent glow of an electric lantern placed in the middle of the floor.

Lucifer stood on the other side of the room.

“Ah! Good, you’re awake,” he cheered, clapping his hands together. “You’ve been out for…” — Lucifer held up his wrist, though it was bare, and pretended he was reading a watch— “too fucking long, which translates into eight hours. Congratulations, you post-poned your own fucking destiny.”

Sam screamed through the gag, and it came out muffled and wordless. He wanted to argue, to yell, to tell Lucifer to go fuck himself with a rotten log. Yes, that’d be good. It’d break off in him, bark peeling off, tearing.

A shudder of disgust, mixed with revolting enthusiasm, ran through him at that thought.

No. Sam wasn’t that person, the one who wanted Lucifer to experience what was done to him.

It was _WRONG._

No.

_No, no, no, no, no._

Footsteps sounded up above, and Sam tried to scream again, but in seconds, Lucifer was on him, hand clamped over his mouth. God, Sam wanted to bite him. Bite till he bled. Bite till he lost a finger.

The footsteps were loud clumps, and all too familiar. Relief and fear mingled in Sam.

Oh, how he desperately wanted to be saved. But could Dean even save him? Was Lucifer too much for him?

If Sam gave away his position, he could be leading Dean to his death.

Footsteps came close to the trap door, pausing there.

Oh fuck, he was going to come down here anyway. Might as well make sure Dean knew he was one-hundred percent correct with his assumption of Sam’s whereabouts.

Even with Lucifer on him, he managed to teeter back and forth till his head was smacking against the wall. It was the only part of him that could get enough leverage to really make noise, even with the rope tugging slightly at his neck. The sudden bursts of pressure brought stars sparking into his vision. Lucifer tried to hold him still, but Sam growled around the gag, which just made drool soak up into it. Still, he fought. And his head banged again.

That was when his vision became blurry, everything switching where it was as soon as he tried to focus on it. Oh _god_ , his head hurt.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Lucifer growled. “You’re a pain in the ass, Sammy. Oh, De-ean!” Lucifer called. “Dean, I have your bitch right here. Well, for now he’s my bitch.”

Sam wanted to cry as he heard — more than saw — Dean descend the ladder from the trapdoor. Strong light made its way down. Dean dropped to the floor, boards creaking.

Fighting ensued, Sam struggling to keep up with it.

Lucifer was badly injured, but Dean seemed to be standing strong.

They stood facing each other, Dean holding an angel blade.

“You know I can take you out whenever I want.”

“Oh, so you like getting hurt,” Dean commented. “Masochism. Hmm… Didn’t really picture it for you. Thought you’d be the one to implement the ball gags, the nipple clamps, and the sounding machines, and all that, if you know what I mean.”

Sam cringed, subconscious too aware of those words.

“Oh, I am.”

“Great. That’s fun. Anyway, I think it’s time you end your little vacay. You see, Sammy didn’t want to come, and you know how he gets when he’s away from home for too long.”

Sam looked up, trying to focus on Lucifer. Was he grinning?

“I certainly do. But I don’t know, Dean. I could just do” — with a flick of his wrist Dean flew across the room — “this.” Dean slammed into the wooden boards by Sam’s head, effectively pinned. Lucifer approached. He inhaled deeply, satisfied. “There, that’s much better. Both Winchesters at my mercy. What would Castiel say if he saw you now? He’d surely regret sacking up with humans. You’re pathetic. Sam, if it wasn’t for our… _profound bond_ … I would have killed you ages ago.” A shiver ran through Lucifer. “Oh my Dad, I’d love that.”

“So you gonna kill me?” Dean questioned, straining to get the words out, fear and pressure stealing his breath.

“Not yet. I crave entertainment.”

“Buddy, just a warning, I can’t dance for shit.”

Dean was released after those words, collapsing to the floor beside Sam.

He panted, turning his head to Sam. “Sorry about the crap rescue attempt.”

By now, Sam could barely keep his eyes open. Tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed were drying on his cheeks as his entire body trembled, going into shock.

Dean picked himself up, getting to his knees, like he was praying.

“Lucifer, you don’t have to do this.” His voice was desperate, yet angered. The time for witty remarks and playing games was over.

“Maybe not, but I want to.”

“Let Sam go!”

“Make me.”

Dean reached out for his angel blade, but it was kicked away, and then that boot was slamming against the underside of his chin, making him bite his tongue and bottom lip, tumbling backwards.

“Fine, you want a challenge?!” Dean cried. “I’ll fucking make you let him go. You like deals, right? That’s what Hell runs on? Well here’s a deal for you. Ten years from now, you kill me. You take me to the Cage, and you torture me for the rest of fucking eternity. You can go all out, ripping out my bones, tearing off my skin, searing my flesh, cooking me like a fucking barbecue dinner. You know what? You can rape me too. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, being the fucking Devil and all?”

Lucifer seemed drawn in by this idea, but he murmured, eyeing Dean. “Sweeten the pot.”

“I’ll say yes to Michael. You—You can have both of us, tear us both apart, make us wish we didn’t exist.”

Lucifer started to laugh.

“Oh my Dad, you humans are so stupid! Fine, Dean, I’ll take your little deal. Ten years from now.”

“Ten years.” Dean nodded.

Dean came forward, seemingly knowing what he had to do, and Lucifer leaned down. Their lips met, and it took all of Sam’s willpower to not throw up. It was most likely from Dean’s words, from the deal being sealed, from _watching this_. Or it was the headache. Was it a concussion? Must’ve been. Just great.

Sam couldn’t remember much of what happened next, only semi-aware of his surroundings, not sure if he was even alive.

But then he was in a motel room, lying back on his bed, shirtless, all bandaged up. An IV that Dean must’ve stolen from a vet’s office was attached to his arm, water dripping into him.

“Welcome to the world of the living,” Dean said.

Sam sat up slowly, Dean helping him with a hand on his back. Sam grimaced. 

“Whoa, whoa, take it easy there.”

Not listening, Sam started to rip out the IV. Dean grabbed his arm, not letting him, but Sam shoved him, screaming wordlessly.

As Dean fell back, Sam breathing hard, hair falling in front of his face, already starting to sweat, he found words. “ _Why would you do that, Dean? Why do that to yourself? I’m not worth it! I’m not WORTH IT!_ ”

Dean just stood, somber, voice hard. He even had the guts to meet Sam’s eyes. “You are to me.”

Sam ripped out the IV, tottered towards his brother, and then beat his fists against him: his torso, his shoulders, his face, even his neck.

Tears tracked down his cheeks, and eventually Dean was hugging him, Sam just begging, pleading: _NO. NO._

“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” Dean assured.

Safe? Yes.

Okay? No.

Sam would never be okay again. But he didn’t have the strength to continue punching Dean, to tell him he was the dumbest son of a bitch on the planet, to inform him what being at Lucifer’s mercy was like.

There wasn’t a single thing he could do.

And all this for his safety?

Sam didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t deserved to be rescued, especially if it came at the cost of Dean’s soul.

He let himself be pushed back into bed, and he lay there, fighting nausea, head swirling.

_You’re safe now._

_It’s okay._

_It’s okay._

What a load of bullshit.


End file.
